


Til Death Bring Us Together

by lakeshoredive



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Issues, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Iwaizumi I love you but you are dense, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oblivious Pining, but vague ones, death as a plot device, don't let that fool or scare you, its a minor oc that isn't even named, please grow some braincells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29201085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lakeshoredive/pseuds/lakeshoredive
Summary: It starts, like any reunion does, with a death.Hajime nearly trips over his feet when he sees him. There, standing at the entrance to the funeral home, is Matsukawa Issei.He looks good, Hajime realizes belatedly. He looksgood.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34
Collections: IwaMatsu Week 2021





	Til Death Bring Us Together

**Author's Note:**

> Happy IwaMatsu Week! Here's a little dumb pining boys getting together!

It starts, like any reunion does, with a death. 

Hajime nearly trips over his feet when he sees him. There, standing at the entrance to the funeral home, is Matsukawa Issei. His hair is longer than it was last time he saw him, curling gracefully over his forehead in neat ringlets that look like silk to touch. 

Not that Hajime wants to touch them. 

He’s bowing respectfully to everyone that walks in, his suit jacket pulling tight at the shoulders, accentuating the muscle definition there. 

He looks good, Hajime realizes belatedly. He looks _good._

Dark eyes raise to scan the crowd, seeing how many more people are planning on entering the wake. For a moment, they meet, his eyes the same half-lidded with barely concealed boredom that Hajime remembers them being, but holding onto an ounce of respect for the grieving, before Matsukawa continues his scan. He feels himself deflate a little, but just as he’s telling himself he’s being _stupid_ , Matsukawa’s eyes snap back to his, growing comically wide. 

They stare at each other for a few moments before Hajime receives a sharp elbow to the back and a hissed, “ _Hajime what’s the hold up!”_ He fumbles with his _kodenbukuro_ before straightening up to send a half glare over his shoulder at his mother. 

“Nothing,” he grumbles and continues his way into the funeral home. The polite, professional smile Matsukawa had been sporting is replaced by something more teasing, more familiar. He _almost_ doesn’t want to go up to him. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says softly, his full attention on Hajime at once. There’s something soft in his gaze, like he really is sorry. He wants to wave him off, to explain that he doesn’t really _know_ the deceased, a distant relative is all. Instead, he manages a gruff, “thanks,” not knowing whether to stay and try to talk, or move on with his offering. 

(It’s time like these, the only time really, and not that he would ever, _ever_ admit it outloud, when Hajime desperately wishes he was more like Oikawa. Oikawa would have no problem slinging an arm around Matsukawa, catching up like there was no time between them.) 

He is saved, in a way that isn’t really salvation at all, but rather a swift dive into humiliation, by his mother. She snags the end of his jacket, effectively keeping him in place. There isn’t anything worse in the world than to be caught under his mother’s scrutiny. Iwaizumi Himari is a stout woman, with green eyes that could buckle any man unfortunate enough to fall victim to her glare. And right now, Hajime is her latest victim. 

“ _Hajime,”_ it comes out as another hiss. _“You didn’t tell me Matsukawa-kun worked here!”_

“ _I didn’t know!”_ He hisses right back, hoping more than anything that it doesn’t come across as petulant as it sounded to his own ears. 

“It’s nice to see you Iwaizumi-san,” Matsukawa chimes in, laughter in his voice. “Wish the circumstances were different, though. My condolences to you and your family.” 

His mother cuts her attention back to his old friend, clasping onto his hand with a kind smile. “Oh thank you dear. It’s nice to see you as well. I didn’t know you worked here.” 

“Neither did your son apparently,” he teases. 

“Yea well it’s Hajime, nothing gets past him,” they share a quiet laugh at his expense, careful not to disturb the guests around them. And really, he should have seen this coming. Introducing his mother to Matsukawa in _high school_ had been a terrible idea. Now they’re adults and it’s somehow worse. 

(Hajime resolutely refuses to acknowledge the warm, funny feeling growing in his chest knowing his mother and Matsukawa get along and have always gotten along.) 

Hajime sighs and rolls his eyes, turning to leave so he can pay his respects and try to avoid making conversation with a family he doesn’t know when he’s snagged _again_ by the bottom of his jacket. 

“ _I’m going to go pay my respects,”_ she whispers, darting her eyes back towards Matsukawa. And before he can protest by saying that he was about to do the _same exact thing_ , she cuts him off with a sharp, “ _talk to him,”_ and a pointed look. A look that says, _I can hear your poor little gay heart pounding from here do something about it._ And Hajime wishes his mother didn’t know him as well as she did. 

Because the truth is, Hajime would very much _not_ like to focus his full attention on Matsukawa. He would very much _not_ like to focus on his curls, or the watch on his wrist, or the way his suit fills him out perfectly, showing that in the years he hasn’t seen him, Matsukawa has grown into his lanky body from high school, and that he’s even _taller_ now- 

“So,” Matsukawa murmurs, effectively cutting off his spiral. “How long you in town for?” 

Hajime blinks at him. He hadn’t planned on staying in town long. He’s got someone else to cover his team for the week, but really he was planning on ducking out as soon as the funeral was over. His mother would understand. She is probably planning the same thing too. 

But what comes out of his mouth is, “for the week,” and he thinks the severely under packed suitcase sitting in his childhood home might just be worth it for the way Matsukawa smiles at him. 

“Good,” he murmurs, and if that doesn’t send a _zip_ down his spine. “That’s good. We’ll catch up sometime this week then. Just not, you know,” he waves a hand around, gesturing to the funeral home. 

Hajime laughs quietly. “Definitely.” 

The air is still a little stiff, awkward in the way it never used to be. Hajime remembers the easy silences with Matsukawa. For all that Matsukawa liked to joke around, especially with Hanamaki, he also knew how to be silent. It was something both him and Hajime did _very_ well together. He was always the most productive when he was with Matsukawa, enjoying the easy company while also being able to get his work done. Now though, they can’t seem to slip back into that camaraderie they once had. There are words on Hajime’s tongue, words he doesn’t even _know_ to say, but they burn like a wildfire and he wants so badly to spit them out. And Matsukawa doesn’t seem to be fairing much better. He’s got a strange look on his face that makes his eyebrows, in all their full glory, pinch, his eyes narrowing further, like he’s studying Hajime under a microscope. 

And well, Matsukawa has always been a rather preceptive bastard. His silence usually meant he was observing, connecting puzzle pieces before anyone even knew a puzzle had been brought out. 

Hajime has just never found himself on the receiving end of that gaze. 

He’s about to open his mouth to say something, _anything,_ but Matsukawa beats him to it. 

“You should probably get in there,” he says, jerking his head towards the room where the wake is being held. 

“I- right. I’ll see you around Matsukawa.” 

Matsukawa gives a lazy salute, a ghost of a smile on his face. “See you around Iwaizumi.” 

He heads in, ignoring the cold looks he receives. 

*** 

The wake passes without much fanfare. No one tries to talk to him or his mother, but that doesn’t come as much of a shock, more of a blessing really. He spots Matsukawa on the way out, they give each other a nod and that’s it. 

They’ve never been ones for dramatics. 

Later that night, after bidding his mother a goodnight, he lies in his childhood bedroom, lost in memories of high school. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen Matsukawa since high school. It’s been a couple years since they’ve seen each other in person, sure, but their group chat consisting of himself, Oikawa, Hanamaki and Matsukawa remains at the top of his text chain list. 

And yet, _and yet,_ seeing him today, in the middle of a funeral home, was so _awkward._ Hajime doesn’t even think their first meeting as first years was as brutal. 

“ _Fuck,”_ he grumbles, running a hand over his face. The alarm clock, shaped in the image and likeness of Godzilla, a gift from Oikawa one year, blinks an offensive 2:35 at him. 

The worst part of it all, he thinks, is he doesn’t know _why_. Despite what Oikawa might say, he’s not as dense as people think. He _can_ read a room. He wasn’t the _Pillar of Seijoh_ for nothing. 

Hajime huffs and rolls over, burying his face in his pillow. Some sleep would do him some good. Probably. 

He’s just overthinking. Which is stupid. That’s Oikawa’s job, not his. 

With a deep breath, he counts down from 100, and is out before he hits eighty. 

But, as a common theme of his life, peace is never a long term option. His eyes snap open to the shrill ringtone of his phone. Hajime puts his phone on Do Not Disturb when he sleeps, a habit he got into in high school. But, after Oikawa complained about not being able to reach him, Iwaizumi added a select group of people to his favorites list. Which can only mean one thing. 

“ _What?”_ He growls into the phone. 

“My, my Iwa-chan! So cranky! Say hello you’re on speaker!” Is the one and only Oikawa Tooru, the forever bane of his very existence. Best friend and worst nightmare all rolled into one, and Hajime _swears_ as much as he loves him, he will kill him. Most likely within the next two minutes. 

“ _Shittykawa,”_ he hisses, the name coming out more garbled with how hard he’s clenching his jaw. “Do you know what time it is?” 

“Uh-” 

“It’s four in the _fucking_ morning!” 

The line is silent for a moment, there’s a shuffle and Oikawa suddenly sounds much closer to the phone. “... Oops?” 

“ _Oops!_ What do you mean _oops-”_

“Listen I forgot-” 

“You _forgot!”_ His voice is far more shrill than he’d like it to be. “Forgot _what_? Forgot that you live in _Argentina?!_ Forgot there is a _twelve hour time difference?!_

“It’s an honest mistake Iwa-chan,” he whines into the phone. “I was only just in Japan like two months ago it happens!” 

Hajime scoffs, rolling onto his back, resigning to his fate. “What’s up,” he grumbles, voice softening all at once. “Is something wrong?” Because for all that he’s annoyed to be woken up at four in the morning, these kinds of phone calls are more rare than they used to be. _Something_ must be up. 

Oikawa doesn’t answer right away, and Hajime can feel the worry begin to pool into his gut. He hadn’t _thought_ anything was wrong with Oikawa, in the two months it’s been since the Olympics. In fact, Hajime is sure that he’s _still_ riding the high of winning gold. And all the times they’ve talked Oikawa’s happiness has been genuine. His excitement is almost palpable that for the most part Hajime can’t help the smile that won’t leave his face even hours after talking to him. 

But before Hajime can really begin fretting Oikawa asks, “What are you doing in Sendai?” 

_That_ is not what Hajime thought he was going to say.

“Hah?” Hajime pulls the phone away from his ear as if he can look at Oikawa. He narrows his eyes. “How do you know I’m in Sendai? You stalking me or something?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous Iwa-chan. I obviously have your location-”

“You what-”

“And I was just checking up on you-”

“ _Why-”_

“And saw you were back home!” Something in his voice changes. It goes light and airy, the same voice he uses to get what he wants, tricking people with faux innocence. Hajime’s eyes narrow further, brows furrowing and lips screwing into an unhappy pout that he only gets when talking with Oikawa. 

“I don’t remember giving you my location, Crappykawa,” he feels like he’s in the middle of a game, except he doesn’t know what they’re playing. 

Oikawa makes a _tsk_ sound, and Hajime can practically see him waving a hand. “Semantics. But seriously Iwa-chan. Already giving up on city life?” There’s a tease in there somewhere. 

“I’ve lived in Tokyo for two years now. Cut the bullshit and ask what you really wanna ask,” Hajime grits out, fed up already. He’s tired. He has to get up in two hours for the funeral. And his best friend of twenty years is trying to play games that haven’t worked on him ever. 

“Iwa-chan!” He gasps, sounding scandalized. “I really am asking why you’re home.” His voice lowers. “You haven’t been home in a long time.” There still is something else, something he isn’t saying, but Hajime is too tired to try to pry it out of him. He has learned over the course of their friendship how to pick his battles. He sighs. 

“Well if you’re _so_ concerned,” he smiles a little at the huff Oikawa lets out. “I’m in town for a funeral.” He preemptively pulls the phone away from his ear. 

“ _A FUNERAL!”_ He shrieks. He must have a hand over the speaker because the sound muffles, and he switches into rapid Spanish, probably assuring a teammate that nothing is wrong. “ _A funeral,”_ he repeats, much quieter, coming back to the phone. Hajime hums. 

“ _Iwaizumi Hajime,”_ and he can’t help the snort that escapes at the use of his full name, but Oikawa ignores him. “That’s usually something you _tell_ people.” 

Hajime shrugs, and then remembers that Oikawa can’t actually see him. “It’s not that big of a deal. I didn’t know her.” 

“It’s the principle of the thing, Hajime,” Oikawa definitely is rolling his eyes. “How were they?” 

“How was who?” He deflects. He knows what Oikawa is asking. 

“Don’t play dumb. It’s not a good look on you,” his voice steels, the Captain Voice coming into full play, and most of the time it’s best not to fight him when he gets like this. 

Hajime lets out a long breath through his nose. “They were like they always are. Didn’t talk to me or Mom.” 

Oikawa makes a disgusted sound, mumbling something that sounds a lot like, _your family sucks,_ before quietly saying, “I’m sorry, Iwa-chan.” 

“It’s fine,” he says quickly. “C’mon Tooru. It’s nothing new.” 

“That doesn’t make it right,” he snaps. 

“No,” Hajime agrees. “It doesn’t. But it doesn’t bother me.” The _anymore_ goes unsaid, but not unheard. 

(There is a reason Hajime clings onto his friends so hard. A reason that once you manage to worm your way into his heart, you have a home there for life. Tooru knows this, and has known it the minute he asked where Hajime’s dad was, only for Hajime to go quiet and shrug. Family is important, especially to someone who doesn’t have a lot of it.) 

“Still, I wish you would’ve told me,” Oikawa sighs, sounding as long suffering as he always does when he thinks Hajime is being stubborn. 

“So you could what? Catch the latest flight to Sendai?” He snorts, knowing that’s exactly what Oikawa would do. 

“ _Yes_!” He says, exasperated. But Hajime is already shaking his head. 

“You have practice, idiot.” 

“I’m a gold medalist, Iwa-chan I can do what I want.” 

Hajime does laugh then, quiet and breathy. “Careful,” he murmurs through his chuckles. “Imagine if your fangirls heard you say that.” 

“My _fangirls_ love me for me, thank you very much,” he sniffs, but there’s a smile in his voice. They’ve entered back into neutral territory. 

And then, as a _thanks for the concern,_ Hajime says, “I saw Matsukawa today.” 

“Mattsun!” He chirps. “Wait where?” 

“At the wake.” 

“.... at the wake…?” 

“Mhm. He works at the funeral home.” Hajime stares at the ceiling, the same confusing feelings from two hours ago come crashing back down on him. 

“Oh! Oh yea, I remember Makki telling me he was working an odd job.” Hajime hums in agreement. An odd job indeed. 

“Well how was he?” He asks. 

“Fine?” 

“ _Iwa-chan,”_ he wails. “Can’t you give me _anything_ better than that!” 

“What! He was fine! We didn’t exactly have time to chat,” Hajime grumbles. It _is_ the truth. Matsukawa seemed fine. 

_“Ugh._ Iwa- chan is the _worst!_ It’s like talking to a brick wall!” 

“Fine!” Hajime snaps, indignant and annoyed. “He looked _good,_ alright!” The words are out of his mouth before he can actually think about the implication of what he said. It’s only when he realizes that he’s seemingly stunned Oikawa into silence that he considers he might have made a mistake. And for a moment, Hajime thinks they might just brush past it. He’s praying actually, that they’ll just brush past it. 

But then Oikawa opens his big stupid traitorous mouth. 

“Oh ho! He looks _good, hm_ ,” he fucking _coos_ and Hajime wants the universe to swallow him whole. “I don’t think I can remember a time when Iwa-chan described anyone as looking _good._ ” He’s practically purring and Hajime _hates_ him, hates him so much if he could go back in time he’d punch his younger self in the face so he would _never_ meet this insufferable asshole. 

Hajime’s face _burns_ as he yanks the phone away from his ear when Oikawa lets out what he can only describe as a squeal. 

“Oh my _god_ , Iwa-chan don’t tell me-“ 

Hajime ends the call abruptly, not letting Oikawa finish the sentence, not letting himself even _think_ about how he was going to end that sentence. His entire body feels uncomfortably warm, and he _hates_ it. 

Oikawa immediately tries to call back, and Hajime immediately declines it. They go back and forth until finally Hajime texts him. 

**Hajime (4:24 am):** I have to be up at 6 for the funeral stop calling me. 

**Shittykawa (4:24 am):** IWAAA-CHANNNN (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

**Shittykawa (4:24 am):** you can’t run from this!! 

**Shittykawa (4:25 am):** ~say hello to Mattsun for me~ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

Hajime doesn’t respond. Instead he shuts off his phone and all but throws it back onto the nightstand. He slaps his hands over his face and resists the urge to scream. 

He doesn’t sleep, not for lack of trying. Dark eyes and a lazy smile dance in his vision every time he closes his eyes. 

*** 

The funeral passes much as the wake did, uneventful and filled with chilled silence. He sticks by his mother like he’s six years old again, only feeling half ridiculous for it, but he supposes it saves him from unwanted conversation. 

He doesn’t see Matsukawa, and doesn’t let himself think too hard about it. It’s probably his day off. And besides, he's a little preoccupied anyway. 

Still, by the end of it all he’s exhausted, running on about an hour and a half of sleep, and the snide comments he keeps hearing are doing nothing for his mood either. He’s aware, from years of Oikawa’s teasing, that he’s got a pretty impressive scowl. He’s also aware that on the Richter scale of scowls, he’s pushing an eight. 

He’s got his hands jammed into his pockets, waiting for his mother when he hears a snort behind him. There, looking lax as ever, is Matsukawa, grinning like the cat got the cream with his arms folded over his chest. 

“Woah,” he says by way of greeting, unfolding his arms. “That is one impressive frown.” He pokes a finger in between the furrow of his eyebrows. Hajime immediately bats his hands away, the severity of his scowl melting to something a bit more deadpan. 

“I was just at a funeral,” he scoffs. 

“For someone you don’t care about,” Matsukawa points out. Hajime claps a hand over his mouth, looking around to make sure _no one_ heard that. It’s not that Matsukawa is necessarily wrong. He cares, a little, because at the end of the day it is family. 

“You can’t just say that!” He hisses, and Matsukawa rewards him by _licking_ his palm. Hajime jerks his hand away like it was burned, muttering a _gross_ under his breath. Matsukawa only laughs as he wipes his hand on his pants. 

“You fall for that every time,” he says, still chuckling as he pulls a small bottle of hand sanitizer out of his pocket. He accepts it with what is definitely _not_ a pout. “And I’m right though.” 

“Yea well that was in high school. You’d think a 27 year old would be more _mature._ ” That gets him his own deadpan stare because _c'mon Hajime really. The four of us? Mature?_ “And right about what?” 

Matsukawa gestures around. Ah. That. 

“It’s-” Hajime doesn’t really know how to describe it. He doesn’t want to be a downer about it, and only Oikawa really knows the whole story of his family. Not that he doesn’t trust Matsukawa. He does. It’s just- “Complicated,” he finishes lamely. Matsukawa stares at him for a moment, eyes bored as ever, before letting out a little hum. 

“Well then. If it’s so complicated, wanna blow this popsicle stand?” 

Hajime considers this for a moment. Most likely scenario, no one will miss his absence. The funeral is over, and no one has explicitly tried to rope him into conversion. A more likely scenario, his relatives are waiting for him and his mother to leave so the shit talk can commence as it always does. 

“Yea,” he decides. He manages to spot his mother. She looks exhausted, but brightens when she sees him and Matsukawa. Hajime doesn’t particularly like the way her gaze sharpens on them. “Yea lets go.” 

Matsukawa is dragging him off before he can second guess it. 

***

Truthfully speaking, Issei had no intention of meeting Iwaizumi at the funeral. He was going to let him have the day before he started pestering him to hang out. But then he got a call from Oikawa at _five in the fucking morning_ , and his intented day off of lazying around the apartment was nothing more than a dream. 

Not that he really minds. Oikawa hadn’t been all that forth coming on the phone, just demanding that Issei _distract him from the funeral,_ and he finds it a little bizarre that Oikawa still bosses him around like a Captain. Although, he supposes he really shouldn’t be surprised. This is Oikawa. 

Besides, Issei isn’t an idiot. 

He is many things, and has done things on the rather stupid side that he’ll never admit to, but being an idiot is not one of them. He has, and always will have, silent perception on his side. And while Iwaizumi probably never noticed it, far too busy looking at Oikawa, Issei has had many a moment for simply watching. 

Hanamaki calls him a freak for it. 

Issei would call it observational science. 

And Iwaizumi is nice to observe. 

These are the things he knows: 

Iwaizumi is an all around good guy. For all the aggression, empty threats, and thrown volleyballs, Issei fully believes he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. Everything Iwaizumi does is for the sake of others. He takes on kouhai like it’s his sole purpose in life, nags his friends when he thinks the bags under their eyes are too dark, and consistently packs extra food when he’s displeased by the amount his friend’s consume. 

He wears his heart on his sleeve. It’s not usually hard to guess what Iwaizumi is feeling. Issei remembers meeting The Wonder Duo™ first year. He remembers vividly being drawn to Iwaizumi over Oikawa because his scowls were easier to purse than the smiles. (Of course that changed rather quickly when he got to know Oikawa. And now he can say with 70% confidence that he’d probably take a bullet for him.) 

Once Iwaizumi decides you are a friend, you are a friend for life. 

These are the things he can infer: 

Iwaizumi is a little bit of a hypocrite. Physically speaking, he is the best of all of them (with the exception of Oikawa) at taking care of himself. Emotionally speaking, he thinks Iwaizumi would first eat glass than talk about how he feels. He is Steady Iwaizumi, and Steady Iwaizumi he shall be. This, of course, is only a hypothesis and requires further study. 

Iwaizumi hoards secrets like they’re gold. He’s never been one for gossip, never been one to spread it. If he hears something, he usually keeps it to himself. It’s only even when Oikawa brought the latest drama to lunch that Iwaizumi would let it slip that he’s known that for _days_ , which typically resulted in a slap war between the two. 

Iwaizumi has an _interesting_ family dynamic. Issei has met Iwaizumi-san. Issei gets along well with Iwaizumi-san. And Iwaizumi and his mother are so painfully similar sometimes it’s really a wonder that Iwaizumi wasn’t just plucked from a thought in her brain. It’s always just been the two of them. But throughout all of their _decade_ and then some friendship, Issei has rarely ever heard him mention any family outside of his mother. He always gets a sad little look on his face whenever he, Oikawa, or Hanamaki talk about family. There is an estrangement there, Issei has always known, but he didn’t know who was estranged from who. 

And that was fine. Issei didn’t really need to know. He lives his life minding his business, always has. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t _notice._ Still, he never bothered to ask. 

Until now. 

Until witnessing the wake, where Issei realizes that this estrangement goes far deeper than accidentally spilling red wine on an aunt’s white cashmere blanket.

So when Oikawa calls at an ungodly hour of the morning on his day off, it doesn’t take much convincing on his part to agree to intercept Iwaizumi. 

He takes Iwaizumi to a little hole in the wall ramen joint, close enough to the funeral to walk, but far enough that no wayward relatives should come stumbling by. Iwaizumi is fairly quiet the whole time, only making an occasional hum whenever he sees something he recognizes. It’s not uncommon for the two of them to walk in silence, but this silence is oppressive, like it was yesterday at the wake. 

_The wake_. Nothing quite like the feeling of being sucker punched at the sight of your high school crush, the same sucker punch he got after the first time seeing him in California, and when he returned to Japan. It is rather annoying, he thinks, that the feelings he thought he had gotten over came stumbling back. Which makes it even more annoying to think that he never really got over them at all. 

Still, Issei has to admit, at least he has good taste. Because despite the occasion, Iwaizumi looked good. He still looks good. Always has. Even at twenty-seven, he holds onto that boyish, rugged charm that has Issei swooning. 

If there’s anyone to maintain a near decade long flame for, he’s sure as hell glad it’s Iwaizumi.

They order, they sit, they eat. Or well, Issei eats. Iwaizumi seems to find poking at his ramen more interesting than actually consuming it. And _that_ worries Issei the most. He wants to ask. Of _course_ he does. But Iwaizumi has never responded well to prying, and he severely doubts that is ever going to change. 

So instead he says, languid and casual, “bet I can eat more ramen than you.” 

Iwaizumi whips his head towards him. Issei fights a smile. _Got you._

Iwaizumi’s competitive nature has never once let him down. 

“Unlikely,” he scoffs, adjusting his grip on his chopsticks as he begins to slurp his noodles. 

Issei just hums, picking up his own utensils. There is a very good chance this will turn into war, as eating competitions between them usually do. Makki has arm wrestling, but Issei has the Battle of the Bottomless Pit. This will end with too much money spent and the top button of their pants popped, but, he concedes, as that particular sparkle returns to Iwaizumi’s eye, the hole burnt in his wallet will be worth it. 

They eat their fill and then some and Issei is pretty sure he’s going to combust. The shop owner even comes out, looking amused and a little more than concerned. But after his third bowl and Iwaizumi’s fourth, he cedes his victory. 

“Okay,” he gasps, swallowing his last noodle. “Okay you win, _fuck.”_

Iwaizumi grins, but it’s wobbly at best and there is pain in his eyes. It’s a peculiar look, one that says _hell yea I won, but god at what cost._

“I remember when you used to be able to _eat,_ Matsukawa,” he says, nudging him lightly. Issei bats his hands away weakly. 

“Fuck off,” he groans. “Had a big breakfast.” 

Iwaizumi hums like he doesn’t believe him, which, fair. It’s not like Issei is being particularly convincing, slumped over the table, clutching his stomach. They slip into another silence, but this time it’s far more comfortable. Issei finds he likes this silence. He glances out the corner of his eye to look at Iwaizumi. He’s playing with his broth, twirling his chopsticks around like he’s mixing a magic potion. There’s a bit of a far away look on his face, but there’s contentment there as well. Issei relaxes. 

“Alright,” he heaves himself upright, his stomach protesting greatly. He soldiers on, patting his pants for his wallet. Iwaizumi starts to do the same, but Issei waves him off. Immediately, Iwaizumi begins to put up a fight. 

“Matsukawa,” he warns, wallet out and card being pointed in his direction. 

“Iwaizumi,” he says, in the same voice. “It’s on me. Loser pays thems the rules.” 

Iwaizumi glares at him. “Thems _not_ the rules. Thems never been the rules.” 

Issei snorts. He’s right of course. Back in high school it had been a matter of pride, and they would put away enough food that a single high schooler would have been screwed to have to pay for it all. 

Good thing Issei isn’t a high schooler anymore. 

“Well thems the rules now,” he grins at him, handing over his own card before Iwaizumi can protest anymore. He huffs and rolls his eyes, looking away, and maybe it’s just the light, but Issei _swears_ he can see a light blush to his cheeks. 

And _oh,_ he’s never been able to do that before. 

He wants to see it again.

They’re waiting for his card to be returned when Iwaizumi mutters a quiet, “thanks.” And then, “I’m paying for next time.” 

That grabs Issei’s attention. “Next time?” 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes again. “I’m in town for the week.” 

Well then. 

Issei laughs, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Next time then,” he says, full of promise. 

They leave, and Issei doesn’t think he’s ever felt fuller. 

***

Hajime is _screwed._

He realizes it about an hour after he and Matsukawa part. 

Watching Matsukawa hand over his card had put some funny feeling in his stomach that he couldn’t name. He thought it was the food. 

Further reflection has confirmed it was not, in fact, the food. 

No it couldn’t have been the food because he got the same funny feeling when he saw Matsukawa waiting for him at the funeral, and when he held the door open, and when he just _looked_ at him. 

This goes beyond food. 

This is the beginning stages of _like_. 

_Fuck_. 

He calls Oikawa. 

Which should probably say something about his mental state. 

“Iwa-Chan,” he begins to whine. Hajime doesn’t give him much of a chance to continue. 

“I think I like Matsukawa,” he blurts out. There’s the sound of rustling sheets. Blatantly, he realizes that Oikawa was probably asleep. 

“You think,” there’s a teasing tone to his voice that Iwaizumi hates. 

“Oikawa,” he growls. 

Oikawa sighs. “Well what are you going to do about it?” 

“Nothing?” 

“ _Nothing!”_ He repeats. “ _Iwa-Chan!”_

“What am I _supposed_ to do,” he snaps, suddenly feeling more exhausted than he had felt all day. 

“Tell him,” he says, like it’s easy. 

Hajime considers it for all of five seconds. And in those five seconds he sees Matsukawa give him a pained smile, pat him gently on the arm, and tell him _I’m sorry._

“No,” he concludes. Oikawa sighs. 

There’s more rustling now, and the faint whine of a kettle coming to boil. Hajime waits. 

“You’re catastrophizing.” 

“I’m not.” 

“But you are,” he insists. “You always do this.” 

Hajime makes a noise of complaint. He doesn’t _always_ do this. Him and Oikawa make for an interesting pair. Where Oikawa tends to find himself spiralling in his own head, Hajime tends to skip to the worst case scenario. It’s how they work, the push and pull. Hajime will snap him out of an insecurity fueled whirlpool, Tooru will pull him back from the brink of disaster. 

But then Oikawa switches up his tactics. “How long have you liked Mattsun?” 

Hajime opens his mouth to ask what the _hell_ that means. He’s only seen Matsukawa for a _day and a half_. This is probably nothing more than a little school _crush_ that nothing but some good ol’ distance will cure. 

But the words die before they can begin their crawl up his throat. 

Because- 

Because if Hajime were to be completely honest with himself, he doesn’t _know_. Feelings don’t develop in a _day_. And he’s known Matsukawa for far too long for any of that ‘love at first sight’ bullshit he doesn’t believe in. When he sifts through their memories, all tinted gold, he remembers the way Matsukawa would slide him a pen without him asking. 

He remembers the way Matsukawa would drop his favorite snacks on his desk after a bad day. 

He remembers the way Matsukawa’s hand lingered on his back after their loss to Karasano. 

He remembers how tight they hugged when Hajime announced he was going to school in America. 

He remembers the warm feeling in his stomach, stretched all the way to the tips of his ears in every single memory. 

_Oh._

_Oh fuck._

Peel back the layers and he’s nothing but a silly, stupid boy harboring a silly, stupid crush he didn’t know he had. 

Hajime makes a pained noise that Oikawa harmonizes with his own surprised noise. 

“ _Shit_ ,” he whispers into the phone. “How did I not know?” 

He means it as a rhetorical question. He doesn’t think he wants to hear the answer. He thinks he might already know the answer himself. Stare at one thing too long, you forget to look for what’s already staring at you. 

Oikawa seems to get that, letting him bask in this newfound revelation about himself. 

“I’m gonna let you go,” he says carefully, giving Hajime the option of staying on the phone. “Let you think this through. But-” He takes a breath, and then another, and Hajime tightens his grip on his phone. “ _Please,_ consider telling him. It might go better than you think.” 

They say their goodbyes, and that’s it, just Hajime against a silly little crush. 

A silly little crush that has always, since high school, been a _something,_ something more than the confines of friendship. 

(8,139 miles away, cradling his phone in one hand, and a mug of tea in the other, Tooru stands at his stove, hoping just this once, his best friend will do something for himself.)

*** 

The week passes, and it’s simultaneously the longest and quickest week of his life, most of which he spends with Matsukawa. They get dinner together, revisit old high school hang outs together, Hajime even went as far as to make him a bento one day, when Matsukawa texted him complaining that he forgot his lunch. Hajime had grumbled the entire time making it, grumbled the entire trip to the funeral home, and grumbled as Matsukawa’s face melted from shock into something far too soft. Matsukawa had nudged him, thanking him quietly. 

“Well I wasn’t going to let you _starve,”_ he’d mumbled, cheeks flushed, embarrassment making his ears burn. 

“No,” Matsukawa had said, thoughtfully, looking down at the bento like it held every answer he’d been searching for. “No I don’t suppose you would.” Hajime had hit him for that one, lightly on his head, telling gruffly to _shut up and eat,_ before pulling out his own lunch. 

It’s been one of the best, most relaxed weeks he’s had in awhile. It’d just been so _easy_ with Matsukawa. So easy to go sit in his backroom at work and answer emails from his players, so easy to find himself in Matsukawa’s apartment after dinner for a nightcap, reminiscing and refamiliarizing, so easy to meet up with old teammates and old friends _together,_ ignoring the raised eyebrows and strange looks. 

Hajime doesn’t think anything in his life has been as easy.

And now, standing on the platform, waiting for his train to take him home, Hajime doesn’t want to leave. It’s a first for him. He’d been itching to get out of Sendai when he was in high school, and even after college he hadn’t been keen on returning, instead planting himself in Tokyo. His mother understood. Oikawa understood. Sendai has not been home for a long, long time. 

And yet. 

_And yet._

Standing next to Matsukawa, he wants nothing more than to say _fuck it_ and stay, to throw caution in the wind and return to Matsukawa’s apartment, to speak the words that have been burning a hole in his chest for a week. It makes him impulsive. It’s dangerous and alluring and he wants it _so bad_. 

It’s all he can do to drink him in, take in the boots and the turtleneck and the soft curls. He’s not paying attention to Hajime, scrolling through something on his phone with a mild frown, and _oh,_ how he wants to kiss him. 

“You should visit more often,” Matsukawa says suddenly, starting Hajime from his daze. He looks away immediately, hoping not to have been caught staring. 

“What?” he croaks, clearing his throat. Matsukawa rolls his eyes towards him. 

“I said you should visit more often,” he says again, softer, and everything about him seems to go soft when he looks at him. It makes Hajime want to scream. 

“You could always come to Tokyo,” he says, just to be contrary, and to hopefully stop the blush creeping up his neck. “Hanamaki’s there too you know.” 

Matsukawa hums, because of course he knows where his best friend is. “Sure,” he shrugs, “but I wouldn’t be coming up _just_ for Hanamaki’s dumb ass.” He’s got his full gaze on Hajime, searching for something, searching for the same _something_ Hajime has been hiding in that damn lockbox since he was seventeen years old.

Hajime’s train arrives in five minutes. 

Neither of them will move. 

_Please consider telling him,_ Oikawa had said that day. _It might go better than you think._

“Issei,” Hajime whispers. It’s everything wrapped up in a name. “I think I-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Issei grabs him gently, framing his face with two large hands and pulls him in for a kiss. Hajime’s own hands move without volition, grasping onto Issei’s wrists to hold him there, hold him steady, and kisses back with fervor, pouring every single confused emotion he can into that kiss. 

They part panting, winded from both lack of air and emotional expense. 

It’s the best kiss Hajime has ever had in his life. 

Issei presses their foreheads together. “You think you what?” It’s barely audible. Hajime swallows and falls. 

“I think I like you.” 

“You think?” There’s a tease, the urge to pull away and smack him is there, but overshadowed by the desire to remain still in the moment, to bask in this tiny bubble they’ve created for themselves. He’s no longer in a crowded metro. He’s flying thirty stories high and spinning in joy. 

“I know,” he says firmly, putting all the conviction he can into a simple sentence. Issei groans then, diving down for another kiss, this one deeper than the last. 

“You mean to tell me we could have been doing this the entire time,” Issei pulls away enough to look at him, brushing his cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs. Hajime’s eyes flutter shut at the motion. 

“It’s not like _you_ said anything either,” he murmurs, not opening his eyes until Issei huffs lightly. He’s raising an eyebrow at him, and if Issei’s hands weren’t still on his face, he would have been ducking his head under the look. It’s a look that says, _could I have really?_ And no, Hajime supposes, no he probably could not. They’ve been waiting for Hajime to catch up. 

They stay like that for a moment longer, before Hajime’s train is called, forcing them apart. 

“Talk about a helluva goodbye,” Issei smiles at him, achingly sweet, and Hajime desperately doesn’t want to get on the train. 

“Issei-” he doesn’t know what to say, half of him wants to apologize for taking so long. The other half begs him to come with. 

“Hajime,” and _oh oh oh_ Hajime loves the way he says his name, the way it rolls off his tongue with reverence. “I’ll see you in a week.” 

“Yea I- wait what?” 

“Oh yea just bought a train ticket for this weekend.” 

“You _what!”_

“You’re gonna miss your train,” Issei grins at him. 

“Fuck the train what do you _mean_ you bought a ticket.” 

“It means what I said,” he laughs, coming up to kiss all the protests off his lips again. “Get on the train Hajime.” 

“I don’t want to,” he admits. 

“I know.” 

“When did you even buy a ticket?” 

“Before we started making out like horny teenagers.” 

“ _That’s_ what you were doing?” He pulls back, remembering the frown on Issei’s face as he scrolled through his phone. Issei hums and nudges him towards the train, last calls ringing through the station. 

“Call me when you get home?” It’s a question, riddled with insecurity that maybe, this will be a one time thing. Hajime rolls his eyes and pulls him into a tight hug. It’s not a goodbye hug, but rather a promise hug. A see you later, or in their case, in a week hug. 

“Of course, dumbass.” 

Issei gives him one last kiss before sending him off with a soft, _safe travels,_ and every step away from him slices through him, a physical phantom ache blossoming in his chest. And if he weren’t in immediate danger of actually missing his train, he’d turn and run and let Issei sweep him in his arms and promise to never let him go. 

They have a lot to talk about, a lot to hash out before they can properly start seeing each other. The long distance will be hard, no doubt, and Hajime will be busy more times than not, especially when the season kicks back up. 

But his lips still tingle lightly, and he can’t stop stupid smile gracing his lips. 

And when he looks out his window, Issei is still there, hands in his pockets, grinning back, and stays until Hajime is out of sight. 

He settles into his chair for the trip back to Tokyo, back to his lonely little apartment where all he’s had to keep him company are his tiny plants that thrive on his windowsill. But now, instead of the dread of returning to an empty apartment, he’s filled with elation, excitement, maybe a healthy amount of fear that leaves him breathless. 

And he doesn’t even make it thirty minutes into the trip before digging out his phone, calling the one person in the world that has managed to knock the wind from his sails in such a short amount of time. 

Issei picks up on the first ring, and Hajime hopes to everything he never gets used to the warmth that thaws him from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes. 

It started, like any reunion does, with a death. It ends however, with something new, something exhilarating, something that makes Hajime want to burst forth towards the future with open arms. 

And _oh_ how he is ready for it. 

**Author's Note:**

> No characters are mine! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are, as always, very much appreciated!


End file.
